


Everything You Want

by boltshok



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Praxian Culture, Pre-Relationship, Slow Build, Walk Into A Bar, You know what I mean here, but slow burn is not my forte, look i'm going to try, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28818546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltshok/pseuds/boltshok
Summary: Blueraid's tired of the fast lane.Razorworks has been hurt before.And war is coming.
Relationships: Blueraid (OC)/Razorworks (OC), OC/OC
Kudos: 2





	1. here finding me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Flaw in Every Crystal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3287516) by [monochromeRainbows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monochromeRainbows/pseuds/monochromeRainbows), [Skylar_Matthews](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylar_Matthews/pseuds/Skylar_Matthews). 
  * Inspired by [Light Praxus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7620916) by [pjlover666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjlover666/pseuds/pjlover666), [silberstreif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silberstreif/pseuds/silberstreif). 



> I'm super into Vertical Horizon right now. Expect themed titles.
> 
> Take a look at their designs here: https://www.deviantart.com/gbot13/art/Main-OC-Height-Comparison-855647543

“Oi, snap out of it.” Sandstorm kicked Blueraid’s shin under the table. “You’re staring.”

Blueraid ducked his helm and rubbed his throbbing shin. He had been in the middle of quite a lovely daydream featuring the excellently formed Praxian stockworker outside. He was stacking crates along the wall beside the bar and only when he moved closer could Blueraid get a good view of his broad chassis and classic paint scheme. What he didn’t account for was the window’s transparency—the other mech could see him just as clearly. 

“Oh frag,” he gasped and trained his optics on Sandstorm across from him. He grabbed his drink, downed half, and set it back down hastily. “Think he noticed?”

Sandstorm gave him a deadpan look and Blueraid timidly returned his optics to the window. Now, the mech wasn’t working, he was staring back, and when they made eye contact the worker’s cheeks flushed brightly. His doorwings rose, quivering, before flicking down and back to neutral. Blueraid’s panels answered with a bright lift and the mech blushed even harder. 

“Yeah, they noticed,” Sandstorm snickered, lifting his cube and glancing at the dark charcoal-gray mech outside slyly over the top. “You gonna talk to ‘em?”

“He’s a sub,” Blueraid breathed. 

“How can you tell?”

“How can you not?” Blueraid’s optics were locked on the mech’s smooth movements as he fixed up the last crate and stood up straight.

His doorwings told him so when they made eye contact. His armor bore the colors. To Blueraid, the designation couldn’t be any more obvious.

Trundling over to the door, the bartender stuck his helm out and shouted, “Come on! No lagging! We’re short on staff tonight!”

Grabbing the last two crates, one on top of the other, the mech stacked them neatly and then brushed his hands off. He gave one last dispassionate look at the window and made for the bar counter. He disappeared behind it and busied himself assembling a tray of engex.

“Wow, he could lift your chassis no problem,” Sandstorm commented under his breath and Blueraid snickered. 

“Are you kidding? He could bench press me. I wonder if he’s interested in doing it tonight—”

Before Blueraid could finish the big Praxian was standing at their table with their next round of drinks held on the tray in his hands.

“Hi,” he said, panels butterflying open.  
“Hi,” Blueraid responded, his doorwings already perked up eagerly over his shoulders.

“What’s your name, big boy?” Sandstorm asked, lounging back in his seat and allowing his optics to take in his heavy-duty frame. “You have gorgeous axles.“

The broad Praxian’s cheery communication through his door panels slowed to a halt, and Blueraid shot Sandstorm a look.

“Not a wheels mech?” Sandstorm teased. “Not to worry. My friend here is more of a wings guy, I’m sure you can tell.”

“I—” Blueraid can’t even get a word in edgewise. He debated kicking Sandstorm back but that might look bad. He didn’t want this handsome mech to think he abused his friends-

“Don’t be modest,” Sandstorm said, sitting forward. “You know he’s what you want. A sub.” 

Silence. Between the three of them, it’s as if the rest of the bar stopped moving. Blueraid gaped at Sandstorm—why? He was supposed to be the one flirting! As if you could call what Sandstorm just said flirting. He had zero tact, blame that on his time in the Rust Sea. 

Wings dropping back in clear disgust, the serving mech took a cube off his tray and doused Sandstorm in fuel. Now clearly peeved, he looked to Blueraid and reached for the second cube of engex. For a moment, Blueraid was speechless, and glanced from Sandstorm’s wet and dripping frame back up at the big Praxian. 

“I, uh,” he finally said, glossa not wanting to function. “I, uh... sorry?”

Plucking the second cube off the tray, the mech set it down in front of him with just enough force that the fluid inside sloshed around but somehow none spilled. The mech turned on his heel and strode away to continue serving.

“Thanks for the drinks- er, drink,” Blueraid called after him. Briefly, those large, charcoal wings rose and fluttered with acknowledgement before the mech moved on.

“Frag, Blue, you sure know how t’ pick ‘em,” Sandstorm muttered, frame dripping with fuel. 

“Yeah,” Blueraid sighed. He wanted to feel those optics on him again, hear that voice say his name. “Wow.”

He was back next week.  
...  
“Two engex, please,” he ordered, sitting down at the bar counter. 

The bartender was working the counter tonight, leaving the large Praxian to serve drinks to the tables lining the bar’s walls. He couldn’t help but watch him. His frame moved so fluidly for a mech his size, he’d never seen anyone quite like him before. Hopefully they could speak tonight.

“You aren’t gettin’ any tonight, Blueraid, if that’s what yer after,” the bartender huffed, sliding one engex cube over to him. “Ogle somebody else. The way its goin’ yer gonna go blind.”

“Oh please, between me ‘n’ Sandy we’ve done everything in this bar but you,” Blueraid huffed, optics still locked on the Praxian across the room. “That’s not exciting anymore. Is he new?”

“Yeah, new. New to here. No idea where from.”

Blueraid took a sip of engex and sighed, watching the way the mech’s panels flicked and fluttered. What would those struts look like fluttering for him? Something in him stirred, but it didn’t feel like arousal. It was more potent.

“Here ‘e comes, act natural,” the bartender grunted.

“I am a natural,” Blueraid purred, dragging his optics away to study his cube instead. He tried to hide the little smile on his face but he couldn’t make it go away entirely. 

The Praxian returned to the bar counter, set his serving tray down, and sighed. He looked tired. He felt tired; his EM field was withdrawn and could hardly be sensed, even at this proximity. The bartender vented quietly and started to wash the dirty glasses in the sink, turning his back to both of them.

“This mech needs another engex,” he said, jerking a soapy thumb at Blueraid over his shoulder. 

The Praxian looked from the bartender to Blueraid and his doorwings folded back halfway; he recognized him. When he noticed the silly smile on Blueraid’s face his armor fluffed up.

“You two are in on it together,” he growled, grabbing an engex cube from under the counter and plunking it down in front of Blueraid. 

“Yeah, well, the bartender’s the best wingmech to have,” Blueraid joked, accepting the cube. “I hope my friend didn’t offend you too badly last time, he’s got a big mouth and no brains.”

“And he wants the whole world to know it, I’m sure,” the mech muttered, leaning on the edge of the counter. He was clearly either disinterested or still disgusted from their last visit a week ago because he hardly looked at Blueraid and kept his helm turned to the side, staring out into the crowd. “Just get it over with, blue.”

“I mean it, Sandstorm has no concept of personal space. He shouldn’t have said anything.” Blueraid paused, trying to read the mech’s doorwings but failing. They were held tight and neutral, not betraying any thoughts or emotions. “What’s your name?”

“Razor. And you’re right, he doesn’t.” His optics returned to Blueraid and wandered over his frame, his doorwings, before his upper lip curled. “I know I’m tall, I’m a sub, and no, I won’t frag you.”

“Wait!” He turned to go but Blueraid reached out and hesitantly brushed his forearm, not daring to grab but not willing to let him simply walk away. 

Razor jerked his arm away from the offending touch but did look back at him, optics flashing worriedly before the annoyance returned. 

“Howd’ya know my name was Blue?” Blueraid asked, doorwings rising in friendly curiosity. “I didn’t introduce myself.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, you’re bluer than an energon pastry,” Razor scoffed, looking him up and down again before rolling his optics. “But your friend did call you by name last week. Please, how dumb do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re dumb at all,” Blueraid said, leaning on the counter to be closer to him. “I think you’re quite smart. When are you off?”

Razor glanced at the bartender, who still had his back turned at the sink. He was clearly ignoring them. Looking back at Blueraid, he worried his bottom lip between his denta before answering, voice a bit tired.

“In a couple orns.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you outside,” Blueraid said, sitting back and taking a sip of engex. “...that is, if you’re alright with it.”

“I suppose... it’s okay,” Razor said, easing away from the bar. “No funny business. I’m nobody’s sweetheart and I don’t intend to be one anytime soon.”

“No. Oh, no,” Blueraid said, waving his hand. “This will be completely unrelated to anything you have in mind.”


	2. he's everything you want

After finishing his cubes and paying for his tab Blueraid parked outside and waited patiently for Razor to come out. He made this date but in reality he had no idea where to take Razor. He was a mech of intelligence, that much was clear, and it’s not like Blueraid was dumb... but he preferred other entertainment. Not something Razor would probably enjoy.

He racked his processor, trying to place anything about Razor that would give him a good idea. The street was dark and damp, only lit by a dim, flickering street light outside the bar. While he was waiting, three other patrons stumbled out. One threw up on the sidewalk before staggering up the street with his friends.

What did smart people enjoy? Mentally he kicked himself. How could he think like that, everyone had their own preferences. Just like art.

_ Art. _

When Razor appeared in the doorway, he looked down at the puddle of regurgitated energon and wrinkled his nose before stepping over it and down into the street. 

“Hey blue,” he said, walking up. He was still tightly controlling his doorwings and showed no emotion through their broad surface area. “So, what do you have in mind?”

“Transform and I’ll show ya,” Blueraid said, blinking his lights. “I think it’s right up your alley.”

Razor studied him before rolling his shoulders and transforming into a heavy-duty cargo transportation alt mode. After a moment of listening to Razor’s big engine, Blueraid set out.

He led them sedately out of the lower edge and up into the midtown, slummy buildings transitioning sharply into kept-up lots and tidy shops. Passing through a small merchant district near to their destination, tall street lights beamed down on them from above and illuminated the candy coating in his paint and the dull shine of Razor’s gray armor. Razor followed along behind him at a sedate pace, clearly enjoying the drive by the tone of his engine. It wasn’t long after passing the shops that Blueraid was pulling up in front of a shorter high-rise and transforming onto the walkway. Razor followed suit and gave the building a once-over. 

“Please tell me this isn’t your apartment building,” he sighed, and Blueraid shook his helm.

“Not in the slightest. Come on!”

He darted up the short walk and swiped a money card over the entry device before he opened the door to let Razor go in first. 

“You don’t need to pay for me,” Razor said, ready to protest further about the door but then he stopped short when the interior of the building caught his eye. “Wow.”

“Like it?”

Blueraid joined him to look over the interior of the building. There was a main office counter and seating area just inside to the right, but in the long hallway past the counter there were paintings, digital displays, and holograms glowing faintly. There was even the hand of a sculpture peeking out from around the corner.

“I haven’t been here yet,” Razor said faintly, taking a step forward and looking at the painting nearest the entry while his doorwings opened up and then rose in curiosity. 

As he moved further into the gallery Blueraid followed, trying to give each piece its due but secretly watching Razor’s reaction. Art was nice, but watching the way the big Praxian’s panels quivered with attentiveness was better than any picture on the wall.

Together they moved through the gallery like that, Blueraid just a few steps behind glancing at the works while Razor was completely absorbing them. The corridor wound around the building and slowly built on an incline until they reached the top level where a spinning, glowing hologram illustrated the formation of the heavens by Primus and Unicron’s first battle.

Razor sat down in the middle of the solarium on a bench while Blueraid quietly slipped over to the side and fiddled with an energon dispenser hung on the wall. He plunked a few coins into it and returned with two frozen energon treats and a dessert bar.

“Ice jelly?” he asked, holding out the first cone to Razor and putting the bar down on the bench. The bigger Praxian looked up and his panels opened while he accepted the confection.

“Thank you,” he blurted once Blueraid had settled down next to him. “I, uh, should apologize. You’ve made this a... wonderful evening. I hadn’t pegged you as someone who enjoyed art.”

“I figured you’d like someplace like this,” Blueraid said, waving his hand at the holographic images above them moving in slow motion. “Nothing like that joint you were in.”

“It pays well enough,” Razor muttered but licked his jelly. “Your jelly’s dripping.”

Blueraid looked down and saw his cone was melting from contact with his hand. He squeaked and licked it up quickly before any more could drip on his plating. It was quiet between them for a few minutes, save for the sound of licking. 

“I haven’t been completely honest.” Razor broke the silence first. “My name’s not Razor. Or at least, not entirely. It’s Razorworks, but... if I give it out at bars I get unwanted callers a lot.”

Blueraid glanced over at him. “Makes sense.”

Razorworks’ doorwings flared up over his shoulders. “You’re not upset?”

“No,” Blueraid said, sliding the sweet energon pastry bar towards him. “It makes sense. A submissive frame of your size and smarts? If I was a lowlife I’d be all over you.”

Razorworks’ optics narrowed and he bit the cone of his jelly. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment,” he growled.

“It’s just a statement,” Blueraid said, taking off the top of his jelly with his denta. “You’re desirable. Not that I’m— well, I, uh—“

Razorworks watched Blueraid stumble over himself before his panels fluttered and he started to laugh. Blueraid’s panels rose, fell, and then rose again when Razorworks wiped a gleeful tear from his optic. 

“Slag, Blue,” he giggled. “I’m sorry. You’re kinda funny.”

Blueraid smiled down at his ice jelly and Razorworks broke off half the dessert bar before sliding it back over. It’s only when Blueraid picked up the bar to eat his half did he notice that Razorworks was nearly finished with both of his sweets.

Popping the last bit of the bar into his mouth, Razorworks stood. “I’ll tell it to you straight. I’m not seeing anyone and I’m not being courted right now. Not that I’m looking, but... you should know.”

Blueraid followed him with his optics. “Okay.”

When Razorworks stepped around the side of the bench and began walking back to the entry, Blueraid jumped up. 

“Wait! Can I see you next weekend?”

“Show up to the bar and see if I’m working,” Razorworks called, turning back and waving at Blueraid. “Thanks, Blue.”

With that he disappeared into the corridor, footsteps fading slowly as he walked back down to the entry. Blueraid stood there in the midst of the Primus and Unicron fight only to realize it had transitioned back to the beginning of the show—it wasn’t Primus and Unicron battling, it was the story of their union, and then downfall. 

Right then, they were embracing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> insert pegging joke here


	3. i start out strong but then i always lose

The next weekend Blueraid showed up to the bar as early as he could manage after being released from training. Despite searching the floor for Razorworks, he couldn’t find hide nor hair of him and settled down at the counter to wait.

He should have known. Razorworks wasn’t seeing anyone, and that’s because he wasn’t interested in seeing anyone. This was a standup. The best thing Blueraid could do was drown those feeble feelings in more engex, and the bartender kept him well-stocked. Halfway through his seventh cube, Razorworks showed up.

“Gee, Blue, kind of a mess tonight,” Razorworks commented, watching the uncoordinated flopping of Blueraid’s doorwings.

“Ah waited for ya as long’s as I could,” Blueraid slurred, leaning on the counter heavily. “Thoughtcha weren’t comin’. Was drinkin’ mah sorrow.”

“Too much traffic tonight,” Razorworks said. “My frame’s not fast in root or on wheels.”

Blueraid waved his hand and then stood. “Fine. Wanna catcha film?”

As he made for the door he stumbled and nearly fell into a pair entering. Razorworks caught him and propped him upright on his pedes.

“I don’t think you’re rated to drive anywhere, let alone watch something moving,” he said, studying Blueraid’s sluggish optic movements. “Come on, I’ll take you home and you can recharge it away. Where do you live?”

“Inn... hunnnnn...” Blueraid’s panels pinched together and he purged noisily on the floor before passing out and slumping against Razorworks’ side.

Anyone within five feet could hear Razorworks’ sigh.

“Fine,” he grumbled, picking up Blueraid with ease and slinging him over his shoulder. “Guess I’m out tonight, barkeep.”

“Fine, fine, take the prettybot with you,” the bartender said, waving his hand at him. “Get.”

Razorworks transformed in the street and settled Blueraid in the cargo hold before pulling out and heading for his building. He lived just on the edge of the low-caste zone in a quiet, modest apartment building rated for frames of his size, a commodity in central Iacon these days. Carrying Blueraid in his arms up the stairs to his unit he finally took a good look at him. He had a handsome face and a very shapely frame. Even without feeling attraction Razorworks knew what made an attractive frame. That much had been drilled into his helm from his time in Praxus.

He laid Blueraid out on his berth and found a bucket to set next to him. After dragging his armchair closer to the bed, he settled down to read and watch over the blue mech just in case he needed help.  
...  
Blueraid woke in the morning to a throbbing helm in a strange berthroom. A large hand lifted a cube of water to his lips and helped him sit up to drink it. It tasted funny, like it had been spiked with additives.

After swallowing half the cube, Blueraid reset his optics.

“Gross,” he managed.

“You’ll feel much better in a breem if you drink the rest,” a familiar voice told him. “Come on now.”

The cube returned and with a soft noise of protest he drank it before slumping back on the berth to recharge longer.  
...  
When he woke the second time, the swimming sensation was nearly gone and he could sit up and look around without being completely thrown for a loop. Sitting across from him in the biggest armchair he’d ever seen was Razorworks, still reading on a tablet.

“Hey,” Blueraid managed weakly and pushed himself upright. “What... what happened last night? I feel wrung out.”

“You drank half a case of engex and then passed out on the way outside,” Razorworks said without looking up. “And I didn’t know where you live, and couldn’t leave you on the floor, so... you’re in my apartment.”

Blueraid swung his feet off the berth and sat properly on the edge. “Seriously? I did not mean to get that wasted last night. I was... disappointed I didn’t see you when I got there.”

“There was traffic,” Razorworks reiterated. “And I’m not the fastest. Hate to disappoint.”

“No need to be hostile,” Blueraid grumbled and rubbed his face. “Anyone ever tell you to be nice?”

“I just rescued you from being drunk downtown and you’re insulting me?” Razorworks asked, lowering the tablet. “Fragsake, you’re the one who threw up all over the floor, my feet, and then dropped offline in my arms like a drunkard.”

“I am not a _drunk_ ,” Blueraid replied belligerently. “I’m a... I’m a... well, I’m something. I can’t tell you what.”

“The barkeeper warned me about you.”

“Warned you about what? That I drink? I’m not always like that,” Blueraid quipped, doorwings rising.

“No, that you want to get with me,” Razorworks said. “Which, by the way, isn’t happening.”

“I don’t want to- well, I did, but- I don’t know what I want to do now! I feel like I’ve just been run over, no thanks to you. Traffic... you had no trouble keeping up with me last weekend.”

“On empty streets and you were ogling my bullbar like you’d never seen a construction vehicle before,” Razorworks growled, doorwings rising. Blueraid’s matched the flare and again, just like at the bar the first time they met, Razorworks’ dipped in submission.

Apparently he was aware of his frame’s subconscious betrayal. Growling, Razorworks cast the datapad away. “Get out. You’re all the same. Think you can walk into a mech’s life and know everything. Go! Get out!”

Blueraid swung his feet out of the berth, stood, and glared down at Razorworks before he reached his hand into subspace and threw two shimmering transfer cards at him.

“Fine! Have fun by yourself,” Blueraid growled back and stalked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Razorworks watched him go before he picked up the transfer cards in his lap. They were two tickets to the _Chorale de Prima_ show happening tonight, balcony seats. Groaning, he let his helm flop back against the helmrest of his armchair.

Slaggit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorty this time! Next will be longer ^^

The next weekend Blueraid showed up to the bar and spent no time on Razorworks. He came with a group of other mecha bearing the Autobrand and spent his time entirely with them. He didn't even ask for Razorworks to serve them. Behind the counter, Razorworks watched the other server hand over cubes and laugh with them while he grumbled under his breath. He was tasked with polishing the engex flutes and only noticed he had fractured the glass in his grip once he set it amongst the others.

“What’s got you in a twist?” the bartender asked, watching him slap the towel down on the counter.

“I wanted to apologize but he’s with them,” Razorworks grumbled, doorwings dropping in bitterness as he gestured to the group.

“You could do it anyway,” the barkeep said. “Show him your humility.”

“What? No,” Razorworks blurted, then bit his lip. “I... well. No.”

The bartender coughed to cover up his smile and turned away. “Alright, fine. Don’t beat yourself up too hard. Try again later.”

“I-“ Razorworks said, opening his mouth and looking over at Blueraid. “Watch the counter.”

He ducked around the exit to the bar counter and approached Blueraid’s table. Sandstorm, the stupid tan-colored mech from the first time they met was there too, along with a young yellow Praxian sportscar and an angular mech with a clearly aquatic alt mode.

Blueraid’s panels rose when Razorworks approached, and Primus-be-damned if his own doorwings didn’t reply. Whatever, it’s just basal coding, it didn’t mean anything.

“Blue,” he said, and the group quieted down to look up at him.

For a moment, he balked. They’re all watching. Does he actually want something to happen between them? He thought Blueraid was interesting, and he did enjoy the art gallery. And two tickets to _Chorale de Prima_? Razorworks doesn’t have time to chase that thought tree to the end, they were still staring at him.

“I, uh,” he said, trying to keep his posture straight and not turn in with shyness or anxiety. “I want to apologize for, uh, insulting you the other night. I really didn’t mean for any of that to happen, I just... wanted to hear you say thanks. For getting you out of here and... to a safe place.”

The tan mech scoffed. Blueraid kicked him under the table and shot him a burning glare before he returned his gaze to Razorworks. His optics softened and his doorwings lifted. “I— really should have said something. You’re right. I’m sorry too.”

The tan mech now gaped at him, and it was the aquatic mech’s turn to shove him. The yellow youngling looked between Razorworks and Blueraid, bright blue optics taking in their posture, their words, their EM fields. His own doorwings mimicked theirs subconsciously.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Razorworks responded, then pulled the two transfer cards out of his subspace. “I called the venue. They let me change the date. It’s tomorrow, if you still want to go. With me.”

“Yes!” Blueraid replied, voice bright. “It’ll be fun!”

“It’s a date,” Razorworks said without thinking.

Slag! He can feel his face heating up, and the tan mech is chuckling softly to himself. But when he looked back at Blueraid and was rewarded by a megawatt grin he started to loosen up. This was going to be fun.

They’re going on a date.


	5. I'm hearing something / but I wish you'd just say more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About chirolinguistics: https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Chirolinguistics

Blueraid was waiting for him outside the bar the next night. It might have been a trick of the spotty streetlight but it appeared that his plating was that bit bluer, a tad brighter.

“Did you wax?” Razorworks asked, exiting the bar.

“Can you tell?” Blueraid asked, then laughed. “Yeah!”

Razorworks could feel the smile on his face and he transformed into his heavy-duty alt to hide it. Once his engine started, Blueraid’s screamed to life and he pulled away from the curb.

“Come on! We can order some cubes if we’re early!”

Razorworks allowed the warm feeling in his spark to grow just a bit brighter. He felt... safe with Blueraid. Not that he didn’t feel safe the rest of the time, but now he’s... secure.

They pulled up in front of the theater two breems later, Blueraid transforming and bounding up to the ticket window before he turned around and returned to Razorworks. The venue was fancy, with glowing lights outside illuminating the _Chorale de Prima_ show title and the director’s name, and Razorworks forgot for a moment about going inside. Blueraid politely cleared his throat and Razorworks jumped on his axles.

“You have the tickets.”

“...I do!”

He transformed and stood up, retrieving them from subspace. They approached the ticket booth together, wading through a crowd already filtering through the entry.

“Two for _Chorale de Prima_ ,” Razorworks said, passing the tickets over. The clerk stamped them and passed them back.

“Please go in, Cobalt and friend,” the clerk said with a waggle of his brows.

Blueraid grinned up at Razorworks and opened the door for him.

“Cobalt?” Razorworks questioned, walking inside. “You were pulling my chain when you said your name was Blue, right?”

“My name in full is Blueraid,” he said. “Cobalt’s a, uh, an alias. For work.”

“Uh-huh,” Razorworks said. “An alias for work. You aren’t, a, _uh_...”

“No,” Blueraid gasped and grinned. “No, no, no. Well, I could do that I guess, but no. I... really can’t tell you what I do. It’s... top secret.”

“No kidding?”

“Not in the slightest,” Blueraid said, expression growing serious. “Sorry, Razor. Razorworks? Razor. I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

“As long as we’re not in the bar it’s fine,” Razorworks said, pushing open the door to the performance hall.

Inside, mecha are milling around and retrieving energon cubes, snacks, and taking their seats.

“Well then, _Razorworks_ ,” Blueraid said, locating the menu. “Would you like anything? I’ll grab the fuel if you want to find our seats.”

“Whatever you have I’ll have,” Razorworks said, checking the ticket numbers before looking at the chairs nearest them. “I’m not picky. Put magnesium in it, whatever you get.”

“One magnesium something coming right up,” Blueraid said, grinning at him and backing away.

Razorworks looked over the hall and finally found their seats, intimately tucked away near the stage. Sitting down, Razorworks smiled in contentment when the back of the chair transformed to fit around his doorwings as if it was tailored to them.

Blueraid returned to him after a half-breem with a smattering of cubes and some sweet treats.

“Like the seats?” he asked. “Military perks are pretty good, eh?”

“Haven’t sat in something this comfortable in a public place for awhile,” Razorworks admitted. He accepted a cube with a stir stick from Blueraid and took a sip.

Mm. Magnesium chips always added a little something to regular fuel.

Blueraid settled down next to him and opened his mouth to say something but the lights came down around them.

The performance opened with one tenor voice intermixed with the rest of the chorus as the singers entered the performance space one by one. They surrounded the stage as a series of actors spilled out onto it, dancing and gesturing and using their body language to convey the glory of Primus and the agony of Unicron. Various colored lights shone down upon the dancers and changed hue with the music.

Blueraid tried to concentrate on what they were singing before he realized he had no idea what they were actually saying. The words coming out of their mouths were in a much older dialect than what he had learned to speak and read. A quick glance at Razorworks told him that he knew exactly what they were saying, and his optics were transfixed on them and shining brightly.

As the story progressed, Blueraid slid closer to Razorworks and tentatively reached out. Their shoulders bumped and instead of putting his hand creepily on Razorworks’ knee Blueraid laid it on his hand and laced their fingers together. Something about the touch felt so measured and collected, and just to see if he could understand Razorworks signed _like it?_ chirolinguistically.

 _I don’t know what they’re saying but the singing is beautiful,_ Blueraid answered, nimble fingers replying with light touches and squeezes. He definitely knew the language.

Razorworks bit off a soft laugh. _You don’t understand them but you bought tickets for it?_

_I thought you would like it. Do you?_

Another blush burned across his face but Razorworks knew the darkness of the theater would hide it.

_I do. I really do._

Blueraid sat back with a satisfied little smile on his face and quietly watched the rest of the show, their hands interwoven.

When it ended three orns later, Blueraid reluctantly pulled away. He didn’t want to make Razorworks uncomfortable, since they were sitting rather close together. Razorworks, however, silently lamented the lack of contact. Undemanding, gentle intimate touch was a rarity for him nowadays, and Blueraid’s plating was warm and solid.

He rather liked it.

Blueraid stood when the lights came up and briefly stretched out his doorwings before he sat again and looked over at Razorworks.

“Well?” he asked. “Was it as good as it’s rumored to be?”

“I think the rumors have nothing on it,” Razorworks said, doorwings fanning open. “That was... amazing.”

Standing up, Razorworks looked over the crowd and stretched out his own doorwings before he let them settle down again.

“Feel like coming back to my place for some engex?” Razorworks asked, and Blueraid nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah!”


	6. you make me forget I am here / you're making me safe now

This time, Blueraid was able to study the drive to Razorworks’ apartment, something he missed the first time. It was well-lit and clean, something he had come to appreciate after driving down to the slums every weekend to meet up at the bar. Razorworks took him up the stairs and to his unit, explaining the story behind the _Chorale de Prima_ the entire way.

“Did you find a download for the language somewhere?” Blueraid asked once he had an engex cube in hand and was sitting at Razorworks’ kitchen counter.

“Of course not, it’s a dialect of Primal Vernacular,” Razorworks said. “I learned it through study. Taught myself the main form and a secondary dialect.”

Blueraid took a sip of engex to hide his surprise. He hadn’t thought Razorworks was a bookworm.

“I like learning new things,” Razorworks continued, mulling over his fuel. “Things not related to... Praxian culture.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Blueraid asked, curiosity lifting his doorwings.

“It’s good to you,” Razorworks said, setting his cube aside. “But it’s expected for me to serve, work, reproduce... and the protocols? Absolute trash. They influence how I think.”

“I’ve never heard any of that described like you have,” Blueraid said, taking another drink. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right dom yet.”

“See? That’s what they all say!” Razorworks said, picking up his cube and sipping a little. “I want to be able to make my own decision if I ever take a partner, I don’t want some program in my head to choose for me.”

Even now, the protocols were buzzing. Blueraid was nice... and for a dom, nice is so much— no! Stupid protocols, changing his thinking. Blueraid’s a dom, nice or not. But... he had to admit, the protocols weren’t shouting at him right now.

“If it makes you feel any better, mine tell me to put my frame in front of threats,” Blueraid said, swirling his engex. “It’s how I joined the resistance. Saw too many subs being treated poorly. Someone has to stand up for their rights, because the traditionalists aren’t going to. Plus, it’s good if someone they can connect with is helping out.”

“I never thought of it like that,” Razorworks said. “Is that really why you joined?”

“Of course. I’ve seen sub mistreatment even in my own home sector,” Blueraid said. “You haven’t joined either side yet, have you?”

“No, but I’ve thought about it,” he sighed. “Both have their highs and lows. It’s hard not to empathize with the Decepticons. They want what’s best for the workers, which, I am unfortunately one of at the moment. But still, the name... it puts me off. Wherever I end up, because I know we’re all going to have to choose eventually... I’ll probably just be a desk worker or a grunt. They’ll find out I’m good with numbers and put me to work doing calculations or some other incredibly boring bit of work.”

Blueraid’s panels picked up. “If you could do anything, what would you do?”

“I...” Razorworks finished off his cube. “You Autobots and your dangerous questions.”

Blueraid grinned and leaned forward. “Come on, I’ll tell you mine.”

“I’d work with my hands. Make something and sell it. Slinging energon has been the closest I’ve managed to come up with here in this city without stepping outside my caste.”

“So you’re definitely not from around here then, I take it?”

“Are either of us? Please, don’t insult me,” Razorworks said, flicking his panels and sitting back in his seat. “I’m from Praxus, likely the same as yourself.”

A silence stretched between them and Blueraid looked down into his cube. The bombing was still fresh in their minds, like an open wound. So many died.

“We’re lucky. Made it out,” Blueraid murmured.

“You did. I left before it happened,” Razorworks mumbled. “...had to.”

To fill the space between them he grabbed another engex cube from the cupboard and offered Blueraid half.

“No, I have to drive back to the facility tonight,” Blueraid said.

“It’s pretty late,” Razorworks said, checking his chronometer. “Is that safe?”

“For me? Heh, yeah,” Blueraid said. Yawning softly, he pushed himself up. “I’d better go.”

“Are you sure? You look tired,” Razorworks said, leaning against the counter. “If you need to, you can stay. I’ll sleep on the couch or something.”

“And kick you out of your own berth? I don’t think so,” Blueraid said. “If anyone should sleep on the sofa it’s me.”

“But your wings,” Razorworks protested.

“You’ve got them too.”

Razorworks thought for a moment, then huffed softly. “We’re grown mechs. We can manage to share a berth amicably for one lunar cycle.”

Blueraid nearly swallowed the remainder of his cube the wrong way and he had to hack it back up before ingesting it correctly.

“Yeah,” he agreed weakly. “For sure.”

“I’ll find an extra pillow,” Razorworks said, setting his cube in the sink and heading for the berthroom. “Just put the glass in the sink, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Blueraid nodded and watched him go before he slumped against the counter. What did he just agree to? Seriously, the same berth? Well, he has seen it before, been in it before, and it was fairly large. They should be able to share with minimal touching, if any.

Razorworks returned, leaning in the doorway of the berthroom. “Don’t fall asleep at the counter, I’m only carrying you when I have to,” he sighed.

“I won’t!” Blueraid yelped, dragged out of his thoughts.

He stood up and deposited his cube in the sink before making for the berthroom. After all the fuel he’s had tonight he could use a decent recharge, and civilian berths were much more comfortable than the ones in the barracks. Only high-ranking officers had nice berths.

“I prefer this side,” Razorworks said, sitting down on the right hand side of the berth. “If that’s okay.”

“Fine, yeah,” Blueraid said. “Your berth, sleep wherever. I’m not that big.”

“Big enough,” Razorworks muttered to himself, but slowly stretched out on his chest under the blanket, settling his doorwings comfortably to one side.

Blueraid slid in on the left side, and he was right! They could fit without even touching. He preferred to sleep on his side anyway. He rested his helm on the pillow and closed his optics to recharge, but Razorworks was _right there_. Dammit, he slept in a room with three other mechs at the base, this wasn’t new.

Except it was.

Razorworks wasn’t much better off. Sure, he was comfortable sleeping on his chest but knowing Blueraid’s _right there_ next to him set his doorwing sensors off. He’d been safe thus far with him, but recharging in the same berth? His protocols lulled his processor into security, though. They were right, he felt nice and secure with Blueraid. Nothing would happen to him. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

He slept.  
...  
In the morning, Blueraid woke to a wide swath of warm gray in front of his optics. Booting up his processor he realized that he was being held... held by _Razorworks_ , in his _berth_. It was so nice, the arms around him were sturdy and warm, and one of those large hands was laid loosely over his wings.

“I should have told you I was a notorious cuddler.”

Blueraid’s panels flared, quivering, and he didn’t need to look up to know that Razorworks was awake, and had been awake for some time. His voice was clear and free of static, and his EM field was humming softly with restfulness.

“That’s okay,” Blueraid said, shifting around to lay his helm on his chest.

The morning light cast a warm glow over the room and highlighted Razorworks’ face and chest from the shoulders up. Something about him was... different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but Razorworks seemed... warmer, now. Happier? Content? Whatever it is, Blueraid was enjoying the buzz of it in his EM field.

He checked his chronometer.

It’s morning, yes, but it was only two orns before warmups with Depthcharge in the gym.

“Scrap!” he yelped. “I’m going to be late!”

Razorworks opened his arms and let him up, watching with no small amount of humor as Blueraid shuffled out of his side of the berth, stood, and gave his frame a once over.

“I had a great time,” Blueraid said, grabbing a cube of energon out of subspace and draining it in four measured gulps. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

He sent a burst of information over, and upon opening it Razorworks saw it was his comm number. Before he could process anything else Blueraid was out the door and thundering down the stairs. The door to his apartment swung shut and Razorworks was alone again.

He glanced towards the door to make sure it really was shut before he rolled over and cautiously laid in the part of his berth Blueraid occupied. It was warm, and had just enough hints of his after wash wax to leave a light scent behind. It was only when his processor returned to the moment that he realised he was purring, engine humming away deep in his chest. He moved to shut it off, but then paused.

Blueraid’s gone, there was nothing wrong with... enjoying this little thing.

He closed his optics and relaxed into the berth.


	7. it may take some time to / patch me up inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I don't know if Cybertronians have newspapers but we're gonna fake it okay

Several times that week Razorworks contemplated comming Blueraid but ultimately called it off each time.

_He’s busy,_ he decided the first time.

_It’s late, probably tired,_ he figured the second.

_If I call him now, will I look needy?_ he thought the third.

By the time he worked up the nerve to call it was the weekend again and he was at the bar, stocking shelves and pouring drinks. Blueraid must have come in about halfway through the evening and sat down at the counter before Razorworks noticed him. He was returning from the back carrying a case of engex and he nearly dropped it upon seeing Blueraid. His frame was scratched up and he had a weld patch above his left eye, not to mention the ugly weld marks on his shoulder.

For a moment, all he saw was the damage. What kind of job gave him such injuries?

The thought passed and then all he cared about was Blueraid’s optics and face. He felt a flush creep up into his cheeks; begrudgingly, he accepted that he felt something for the blue sports car. The feeling was apparently mutual; Blueraid’s cheerful expression heated up when they made eye contact.

“Hi,” he said, setting the case down.

“Hey,” Blueraid managed.

“I couldn’t decide when to call you,” Razorworks blurted before biting his lip to keep quiet.

“I wondered about that,” Blueraid teased, laughing softly before he wheezed and quieted down. “This week was a rough one anyways. Want to take a walk?”

“Walk?”

“I can’t really drive yet,” Blueraid said, lifting his arm to show Razorworks the back where his wheel was stripped of some vital components and the whole tire. “These bits still aren’t back from the shop. I took the train.”

“Oh,” Razorworks breathed, taking in the underlying circuitry. “Shouldn’t that be covered up?”

“Only if I’m showering.”

“Well, I, uh,” Razorworks mumbled, checking his chronometer. “My shift’s over in a few breems. Can you wait?”

“I’ve got all night to be with you,” Blueraid said, leaning on the counter. “Think you can scrounge up a cube of regular fuel? I need to stay topped off for self-repair.”

“Yeah, hang on.”

Crouching down, Razorworks found a cube of standard fuel under the counter in the back and set it down in front of Blueraid.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah. On the house.”

While Blueraid nursed his cube Razorworks put the case of engex away and spent the next couple breems fussing with the bar counter, cleaning, picking up, and washing glasses. He set a timer for the end of his shift and upon the alarm he promptly hung up his towel and returned to Blueraid.

“Ready?” Blueraid asked, and Razorworks nodded.

“Yeah. Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere you do,” Blueraid said. Razorworks took a moment to think before he decided.

“Alright. Come on.”

Razorworks led the way out of the bar and together they started walking up the street.

“I can’t believe you walked from the station here,” he muttered.

“Why not? I’m a trained mech, I don’t need frame protection,” Blueraid said, gesturing to his current condition. “I can handle myself.”

Razorworks looked him over and sighed. “If you say so.”

“Hey, you should’ve seen the other guy.”

They walked along the dim street for nearly a breem before speaking again.

“I, uh,” Razorworks mumbled before resetting his vocaliser and trying again. “I’m sorry we started off a little... odd. I just... I wasn’t looking for a relationship when I came here, at all, but now... I...”

Blueraid looked up at him and his panels opened up in gentle acceptance even though he said nothing.

“I... don’t really know what I’m thinking now,” Razorworks finished. “I...”

Something shifted in a side alley and Blueraid’s panels flared moments later followed by Razorworks’.

“You! I finally found you,” a grating voice spat from the alleyway.

Razorworks froze and Blueraid took the initiative to step in front of him. Despite their height difference, Blueraid’s flared doorwings made him look intimidating.

The shadow leaked out of the alley and revealed another Praxian mech, clearly a dominant spark, and they stalked out into the limited streetlight.

“No,” Razorworks whispered, and Blueraid’s flared doorwings dipped briefly.

“It’s okay,” he said, casting his gaze back at Razorworks.

“Blue, you don’t... you don’t know,” Razorworks said, and cursed the tremble in his voice. He was stronger than this.

“He sure doesn’t know,” the mech growled, approaching steadily now. “He’s mine.”

“I’m not anyone’s,” Razorworks snapped, but he backed away as the mech continued forward. Blueraid held his ground, unwilling to move and leave Razorworks open.

“What does he mean?” Blueraid asked. “You’re solo in Iacon, right?”

“Of course I am. He’s my assigned suitor,” Razorworks replied and stepped back into the street, away from them both. “I- I didn’t know he followed me.”

Blueraid stayed between the other mech and Razorworks until they’re face to face.

“Clearly, Razorworks doesn’t want to see you,” Blueraid said, voice measured and even. “Leave while you’re still honorable.”

“I’m not going anywhere without my sub,” the mech growled, panels flaring high. “Get out of my way!”

He shoved Blueraid’s uninjured shoulder and tried to step past but with the added momentum Blueraid grabbed his hand, his arm, and spun him back around toward the alley.

“Leave us alone,” Blueraid growled at him. “I don’t want a fight. Razor told you what he wants.”

Again the other mech came at him. It was clear that he was heating up and his optics flashed brightly in the dim light of the street. Razorworks gasped when the mech threw a right hook at Blueraid’s helm but through that same redirection Blueraid sent him to the side harmlessly.

The Praxian snarled and whipped around, this time with a knife from his subspace, but Blueraid calmly let him come. One slash, two, and Blueraid made his move. With the third lunge he sidestepped, grabbed the mech by the shoulder and the wrist and brought him face-first down to the ground. Blueraid was on top of him in a moment, burying his knee directly below the mech’s doorwing struts.

“Yield!” Blueraid demanded.

The mech growled and Blueraid leaned more heavily into his knee. The struts beneath his armored joint began to squeak and spread unnaturally.

“I... I...” the mech gasped, panels twitching. “My sub, I... I yield. I yield.”

Blueraid held his position a moment more before standing. He glanced back at Razorworks and tried to reassure him with his EM field but Razorworks was frozen in place, showing his fear with low, trembling doorwings. At his feet, the attacker stood up and dragged himself back into the alley, his equilibrium put off from the damage to his struts.

Once he was well and truly gone, Blueraid turned around and returned to Razorworks. He took his hand and squeezed firmly.

“Come on, let’s go, let’s go,” he directed, and Razorworks followed, optics trained on the alley until it’s out of sight.

By the time they’ve reached a well-lit street and found a bench, a few minutes have passed. Razorworks sat down and held his helm in his hands while Blueraid investigated a nearby fuel cart. He joined him with two ice jellies, the same flavor that he bought at the art gallery.

“Here,” he said, offering the cone to Razorworks.

He accepted it with a trembling hand and licked the tip off before his shoulders hunched up. Blueraid sat quietly next to him and bit the top off his own, gazing off into the distance. The next time he looked over at Razorworks, silent tears were lining his cheeks.

“Razor-”

“Don’t. None of that scrap,” Razorworks huffed, doorwings fluffing up defensively.

Blueraid looked on as Razorworks demolished his ice jelly before offering him his own cone, which Razorworks accepted without question and promptly ate.

“I should’ve told you I had a rogue suitor,” Razorworks mumbled, rubbing the stubborn tears off his face. “Didn’t think he’d find me, not here.”

“Is he why you won’t say your full name in the bar?” Blueraid asked softly, and Razorworks nodded.

“I’ve moved twice now,” he said. “Left Praxus when it was clear we were going to be arranged together. He just won’t take no for an answer! I won’t be handed out to a stranger like... like a newspaper! I’m a mech, I have... have _feelings_...”

The tears were back and he hunched over, gritting his denta and closing his optics tightly. His doorwings drooped low and he put both hands on his face.

“We both know you’re not a newspaper,” Blueraid said, leaning gently against his shoulder. “I think you’re at least a whole book. A mid-sized adventure series, even.”

Through his hands, Razorworks let out a single sob, shoulders shaking.

“Aw frag, I didn’t mean to make it worse,” Blueraid said, sitting straight and lifting both hands. If they were closer he’d feel comfortable petting his panels, but they weren’t, so he wasn’t sure exactly what he should be doing.

Razorworks lowered his hands and leaned into Blueraid now. He wasn’t sobbing, he was... laughing!

“That has to be the most creative compliment I have ever heard,” he giggled, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Blueraid perked up and grinned, leaning into Razorworks now too. His laughter was warm and bright, and when he quieted down Blueraid realized Razorworks’ has put his arm around him.

“Has this completely ruined the evening?” Razorworks questioned, tentatively lifting his arm away when he noticed their change in position.

“What, having ice jelly in town while you eat yours and mine? Not at all,” Blueraid replied, and turned his gaze up at Razorworks. “You feeling better?”

“Much,” Razorworks said, drawing away. “Come on, I’ll buy this time. We’re not far from where I wanted to take you anyhow.”

At the fuel cart Razorworks ordered two more ice jellies and a small bag of energon flakes. He gives one cone to Blueraid before taking his first lick.

“It’s this way,” he said, pointing down a side street. “I know it looks sketchy but it really isn’t. Just quiet.”

Blueraid followed him down, the lights from the main street slowly fading until they came out into a small park made up of benches and a walkway circling around a large pool of rust.

“This is my favorite bench,” he said, bringing Blueraid about halfway around the pool.

He sat down and Blueraid settled next to him. While Razorworks opened the bag of flakes he looked out at the pool by their feet.

Razorworks pulled out a small flake and tossed it into the rust, watching it briefly disappear before floating to the surface. Then, quick as a flash, a neodymium koi jumped out of the water and snapped up the flake on the way down. Its body looked like a brilliant flash of light when it flopped out of the rust and it cast a glow over the pond’s rippling surface.

“Whoa,” Blueraid said, watching Razorworks toss another piece. This time, a bright green koi snapped for the food. “Can I try?”

Razorworks angled the bag towards him and Blueraid took a piece the same size as the one Razorworks threw first. He tossed it out into the middle of the pond and watched as a glowing violet koi sailed out of the rust and grabbed it on the way down.

They took turns throwing flakes into the rust until the bag’s empty and Razorworks carefully dropped the rest of the bits into the pond before he subspaced it. He checked his chronometer and looked down at Blueraid, easily relaxing next to him.

“I don’t want to be too forward, but...”

Blueraid looked up at him.

“Do you want to stay over again? It’s late, and... you’re, well-”

“Like this?” Blueraid asked, pointing at the damaged wheel in his arm.

“Yes. Like that.”

Blueraid chuckled. “I don’t want to put you out, now.”

“Oh please. Blue, you take up nearly half the space I do,” Razorworks said.

“Heh, yeah. I’d like that. Staying over, I mean. I don’t know how much fun I’ll be in the berth tonight, though. Wheel and all.”

Razorworks blinked down at him, then flushed. “About that... I, uh, well.”

Blueraid’s optics widened. “Oh! No! If you don’t want to, that’s fine! Totally great!”

“It’s not exactly that,” Razorworks said carefully. “I don’t really... feel that way. About... anyone. Never have.”

“Really?” Blueraid asked, doorwings lifting in curiosity.

“Really, Blue,” Razorworks sighed. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Blueraid stared at him for a moment longer before his doorwings flicked and pinched together. “Oh! No! It’s not that! I’ve never met anyone who didn’t feel like that, uh, ever. Something for everyone, right?”

Razorworks squinted down at him. “I feel like I should apologize...? You were expecting to eventually do that, right?”

“I’d be lying if I said no, but it’s okay,” Blueraid said. “We’ll just do... uh...”

“I still like being close to others,” Razorworks mumbled under his breath. “I just don’t want to interface.”

“Oh. Okay! I certainly can snuggle with you,” Blueraid said, doorwings rising. Razorworks flushed and his doorwings pinned back in embarrassment.

“Yeah, thanks, Blue. Come on, before I keel over from... all of that.”

Blueraid grinned at him and bounced up from the bench, reaching for and taking Razorworks’ hand.

“But I am not walking back,” Razorworks corrected, lifting his other hand to waggle his finger at Blueraid. “You are riding in the cargo hold whether you like it or not.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Blueraid said. “Anywhere with you is fine by me.”

Rolling his optics, Razorworks pursed his lips and marched back to the street, Blueraid in tow attached to his hand.

“Does that mean, uh, you don’t like kissing?”

“Kissing? Yeah, I like that,” Razorworks said, then paused. “Blue...”

“Mhmm? You’ll have to bend over for me.”

Razorworks looked down at him and then hesitantly bent at the waist. Blueraid gently put his hands on Razorworks’ helm and guided him closer.

Their lips met.

When Blueraid pulled back, Razorworks stared into his optics, face flushed and his doorwings poised high and eager.

“I’ve been around the block,” Blueraid offered, giving him a small smile. “Again?”

“Let’s go back to my apartment first,” Razorworks said, panels fluttering lightly. “I need to explore this in depth.”

**Author's Note:**

> We'll see how this goes. I've been running through this over and over but it still isn't quite right. Any feedback would be appreciated.


End file.
